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We were shoulder to shoulder on a bench, simply in our own dimension. Isolated from the obscurities of the world that tried so adamantly to break our bliss found in the lost seconds of creating legends and folklores out of the mundane.
The trees that swayed in serenity at the breeze that looked nothing more than an existence that defied all meaning as those who tried to question its origin ran amok in the willow fields of the untouched pages of the history books. These trees that seemingly had not major impact to the lives of the bystanders were of miraculous existences to our daring imagination.
The trees became the divine objects of folklores created in the absence of anxiety.
But we did not stop there, did we? No, how could one possibly stop?
Our innovation perfectly synchronized with our imaginativeness, and we gave concept to a bird frozen in motion, a door that could lead to the future yet with no desire to unveil the secrets closed behind.
Our reality seemed to lose meaning the more we spun the tales from the depths of our consciousness, you grew as though the world we walked into was yours for the taking. The Myths and impossibilities seemed to have recognized a quintessence of a conceptual goddess like a bee recognizes royalty, the world of the stories yet to be told, the core existence of the wild imagination in anticipation to be born by a brave imagination all bowed their heads to your awakening as they knew better than anything that a new queen has come to being and this Queen will define the world to her own.
The enlightenment hit me amid our frantic creation of tales. We, writers are the closest concept to God, as we and only we have the ability to step out of reality and confront the chaos of imagination. To mold concepts out of irrationality, to confront the edges of darkness and give life to the ideas that reality perceives impossible to formulate.
Philosophers take pride in being a journalist that questions the rules of reality and publish the scope. Scientist chase after the truth behind the creation and concept of matter in the physical form, yet relish in the answers of their shortcomings as having advanced science a step further. To name a few that dare to look down on us existences that traverse the universe outside of reality.
We are not to brag of our ventures and our conceptual creations, but we find no need to inform the ignorant fool that refuses to see the importance of defining reality in words. We are the ones that decide what gets kept by history in the pages of brown and black, it's our creativity that shapes the advancement of science, we choose the villains and heroes of the past. Our strongest attribute is most likely that we are underestimated at every turn.
As such we live in our own worlds, with our minds travelling the unknown in a state of constant motion, creating the tales to be legend, the ideas to be the next breakthrough, the concept base for philosophers to question their existence. We are constantly creating, and these worlds born from our loss of touch with reality become a world n which the broken can live in, a world in which the lost can try and find themselves, a world that can be called a home. These worlds we create are sanctuaries.
